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Institute
Visual representations of sexual violence in the Bosnian War in Jasmila Žbanić's "Grbavica" (2006) and Angelina Jolie's "In the Land of Blood and Honey" (2011) reveal different dimensions of victim feminism. Both directors sought to raise awareness of the issue of wartime rape and to direct viewers' attention to the pain of the distant Other. An intersectional analysis of the two productions (one domestic and one US-based) helps convey the impact of national and gender stereotyping both on self-representations and on representations of Otherness. Moreover, the analysis of a cinematic response to the Western gaze encourages rethinking prevalent images of the so-called Balkans.
The question of home is a complicated one. While home is emplaced, the notion of home does not simply point to just a location. This chapter thus utilizes what I call the trope of the 'vignette' to look at the concept of home in order to identify some aspects of what constitutes and/or (re)creates it for displaced individuals. It does so by performing a close reading of key moments in the film "Salt of this Sea" by Annemarie Jacir and the collection of essays "The Idea of Home" by John Hughes.
Polish-German film relations in the process of building German cultural hegemony in Europe 1933-1939
(2022)
The article presents Polish-German film relations in the framework of Nazis cultural diplomacy between 1933 and 1939. The Nazi effort to create a cultural hegemony through the unification of the European film market under German leadership serves as an important point of reference. On the example of the Polish-German relationship, the article analyses the Nazi “soft power” in terms of both its strength and limits. Describing the broader geopolitical context, the article proposes a new trail in the research on both the film milieus and the cinema culture in Poland in the 1930s. In mythological terms, it belongs to cultural diplomacy and adds simultaneously to film history and New Cinema History.
Mafrouza is a twelve-hour-long documentary by French director Emanuelle Demoris, shot in a now-demolished neighbourhood in Alexandria, Egypt. Demoris is one of a long chain of western filmmakers who appeal to some form of 'taking one's time' as an instrument for - morally, politically, epistemologically - adequate representation. Based on the work of Trinh T. Minh-ha, Eduard Glissant, and Poor Theory, this chapter evaluates what happens when a film adopts a strategy of deferral in cases in which it is not clear how questions of 'doing justice' could be resolved. Using long duration and an insistence on the quotidian, Demoris's film forces us to think about the conditions that make pronouncements about character, situation, and narrative possible, continuously postponing the moment when it will become possible to say: 'this film is about …'. By setting itself up for failure, the film proposes one possible approach to the ethics and politics of visibility.
What is the relationship between reenactment and repetition compulsion? By shedding light upon the different levels of reenactment at stake in "Yella" by Christian Petzold, I analyse the 'transitional spaces' where the German filmmaker places his wandering characters who have 'slipped out of history'. In "Yella" Petzold mixes up past, present, future, and oneiric re-elaboration to question the memory of the past of GDR, which in his view has never really been constituted as history. The characters that populate this movie move in a setting constructed at the crossroad between a protected environment where the reenacted events are sheltered by the time and the space of the plot and a place weathered by the unpredictable atmospheric agents of the present. How and to which extent can the clash between different temporalities produce a minimal variation?
In the reactivation of the feminist collective of artists Le Nemesiache, this paper looks at the tension between rhetoric and translation in relation to the dislocation of archival materials from their situatedness in place (Naples) and time (1970 to the present). Translation emerges as the conveyor of the conditions from which the addresser started, as well as the ones of the addressees, as a potential that takes place in the moment of enunciation through a plurality of subjects. Considering the epistemological tension between history and fiction, as well as the mediation that happens through the body and the different subjectivities triggered by intra-action, this essay will engage with the following question: if the archive is the memory, can dramaturgy and reenactment from the archive become the message of a prophecy?
Following Hannah Arendt's remarks on refugee camps as spaces of 'worldlessness', I examine how, in films on European asylum facilities, systemic violence 'makes itself known' in images of nature. Nature separates and isolates ("La Forteresse", "Forst"), it constitutes a sphere of domination and control ("View from Above"), and it functions directly as a murder weapon ("Purple Sea"). Nature, in these films, indicates the Outside within, haunted by the latent and ghostly presence of systemic violence.
Marcus Coelen's essay 'An Eclipse of the Screen: Jorge Semprún's Scripts for Alain Resnais' starts from the assumption that the peculiar status of film scripts (not written to be read as such) can be illustrated by the figure of their eclipse. For they are, in inverting the very logic of the figure they invite, eclipsed for the sake of and by the fractured light on the screen they help to produce. Yet just as the sun, obscured by the 'black writing' of the moon, leaves an ephemeral contour in the skies - a spectacle to many when happening - so too can the script that is made to disappear by the screen be assumed to draw its own particular and even more vanishing traits into the movie that is given not only to sight but also to thought. The analyses and critical constructions proposed by Coelen try to detect such traits in the work of Jorge Semprún the screen writer. Writing not only for movies by Alain Resnais - most notably "La guerre est finie" (1966) and "Stavisky" (1974) - but also publishing versions of them after their release and calling those versions 'scénarios' despite various divergences and subtly violent inversions of the movies' images, the screenwriter's figure describes yet another twist of the eclipse. It can be assumed not only that Semprún strongly resisted the influence of the constellation formed by writing and cinematographic shooting, as well as projecting, but furthermore that this writing was almost imperceptibly yet essentially directed against the eclipse it was drawn into. No minor forces are conjured up in this enterprise. Driven by the desire to re-appropriate cinema's a-personal and anti-psychological movement, to domesticate the images of scribbling lights drifting away from the mental and into thought - as well as into a history not mastered -, Semprún attempted to shape mastery itself and most traditional forms of authorship, along with memory and agency, in order to cloud the eclipse of script - that is, we might add, to conjure up a ghost recovering the trace of what has been eclipsed so that it may continue to haunt.
Volker Woltersdorff's essay 'Sexual Ghosts and the Whole of History: Queer Historiography, Post-Slavery Subjectivities, and Sadomasochism in Isaac Julien's "The Attendant"' discusses the controversial concept of wholeness in historiography with regard to the fascination with past horrors and the desire to do justice to their victims who retain a ghostly presence. The essay retraces how this commitment produces a dilemma, as it can result either in the aspiration to historical wholeness as full memoralization or alternatively in the radical rejection of wholeness as an impossible healing. Employing Elizabeth Freeman's notion of 'erotohistoriography', Woltersdorff introduces affect into the work of historiography in order to find an escape from the dilemmatic impasse between history's wholeness as pacified reconciliation and as ongoing catastrophe along the lines of Walter Benjamin. Sadomasochism is presented as a practice that may correspond most adequately to the paradoxical affect caused by traumatic history that continues to haunt the present. Indeed, re-enactments of historical oppression and violence occur frequently within the BDSM community. However, what distinguishes them from 'living history' re-enactments is their potential to modify affective attachments to history by altering the historical script. The essay elaborates this potential through Isaac Julien's 1993 short film "The Attendant", which, in a kind of queer re-enactment, overwrites the memory of colonial chattel slavery by a sadomasochistic encounter of a black guardian and a white visitor in a museum dedicated to the history of slavery. The film raises the ethical and political question of how to relate affectively to the legacy and ongoing presence of racism. Against this backdrop, the author argues that, through the BDSM scenario and its changes to the historical script, Julien's film represents and promotes a paradoxical way to perform both the memorialization and the forgetting of past horrors and pleasures. Here, historical wholeness acquires a conflicting double meaning of both achieving completeness and restoring integrity. Woltersdorff concludes by interpreting "The Attendant" as urging a utopian perspective, produced by the tension between the impossibility of history's wholeness and the necessary, reparative desire for it. The article concludes by highlighting the paradox that Julien's film shows wholeness 'to be impossible and yet necessary' and 'expresses a necessary desire made impossible'. While the essay explicitly engages with the figure of haunting, one could perhaps speak here also of plasticity insofar as the contradictory conjunction of remembering and forgetting seems to rely on a malleability of affects and on producing an affective economy that sustains the fantasmatic remembrance of a painful past through paradoxical pleasure but breaks with any pleasure derived from real inequality, injustice, or suffering imparted non-consensually.
Resolution
(2019)
Many parodies operate through temporal strategies that distort the narrative proportions of their targets. This essay discusses two texts that manipulate time for parodic purposes: the contemporary animated sitcom "Bojack Horseman" and the twelfth-century romance "Ipomedon". Their shared method involves the absurd prolongation of narrative structures of resolution and satisfaction in order to reveal these structures' arbitrary nature. But this method, in turn, shows that resolution - a retrospective determination of shape and meaning - can never be avoided entirely, even if it can be deferred.
Repetition
(2019)
Serial texts must repeat, so that they can be recognized, but they must also change, so that they can remain interesting. Unusual temporal manipulations can emerge in such texts in order to balance these contradictory demands. This essay studies two serial texts whose need for self-extension produces a suspension of historical time: the contemporary animated sitcom "The Simpsons", and medieval romance as theorized by the twelfth-century poet Wace. I suggest that we might name this temporal constraint fiction.
Recovery
(2019)
Despite the increasing incidence of eating disorders, very few films have addressed these conditions in particular. What's more, most of the US-American mainstream fiction films that deal with eating disorders tend to be built on anachronistic clichés, hardly depicting their broad array. Furthermore, the traditional narrative structure of beginning, middle, and (happy) end misrepresents the erratic temporality of eating disorder symptoms as well as the nonlinear phases of recovery and relapse.
In its elusive form between drama, novel and film, "Teorema" marks a 'new turning point in Pasolini's oeuvre'. Both the narrative and the style are remarkable, juxtaposing elements of different genres, nourishing the unresolved tensions within the film: the family members are shown in various scenes that follow one another in seemingly random order. Instead of a cohesive narrative unfolding in time, there reigns a sense of timelessness that gives rise to an oppressive feeling of drifting. Claudia Peppel's essay 'The Guest: Transfiguring Indifference in "Teorema"' explores the figure of the guest, which has always been closely connected with myth and whose appearance often triggers the dramatic conflict. Peppel focuses on "Teorema", in which a sensual stranger causes a bourgeois family to acknowledge its delusions. When he departs, the members of the family are left in a state of unfulfilled yearning, searching for new meaning. While critical literature on Pasolini regularly points to the importance of the figure of the guest but rarely analyzes it, Peppel discusses theories of the guest and hospitality to illuminate the role of the stranger in Pasolini's film. The guest's exceptional state, which is removed from everyday life and removes others from their everyday lives, is meticulously staged and resembles the evenly-suspended attention of the psychoanalyst. He triggers projections, desires, and, ultimately, existential crises.
Figura lacrima
(2012)
Hervé Joubert-Laurencin’s article 'Figura Lacrima', which explores Pasolini's figure of Christ, consists of two interconnected parts. The part called 'Lacrima' argues that Pasolini's Christ sheds a small tear which is analogous to the salvific tear of Dante's Bonconte da Montefeltro. This heretical tear is not explicitly referred to or shown but can only be perceived through the coherent text represented by the ensemble of Pasolini's films. The part called 'Figura' argues that Pasolini invents the new concept of 'figural integration', which extends beyond Erich Auerbach's analysis of medieval figural and typological interpretation and allows him to conceptualize a kind of non-dichotomous tension between the poles structuring his thought and art. Joubert-Laurencin argues thereby that Pasolini's scandal of Christ's small tear is not the simple provocation of a sinful Christ, but the utopian image of a West that frees itself from its own closure through the promise of another world, coming not from somewhere else but from the powers of an outside that it possesses within itself.
Pasolini's literature, film, theatre, and essays engaged with Classical tragedy from the mid-1960s onwards. As Bernhard Groß shows in his paper 'Reconciliation and Stark Incompatibility: Pasolini's "Africa" and Greek Tragedy', this engagement forms a modality in Pasolini's politics of aesthetics that seeks to grasp the fundamental transformation from a rural-proletarian to a petit-bourgeois Italy. Since the mid-'60s, Pasolini was concerned with the bourgeoisie and its utopian potentials, which he sought to make productive by reading Classical tragedy as a possibility to make contradictions visible. Pasolini realized his reading of the Classical tragedy by having 'Africa' and 'Europe' - as he understood them - confront one another without mediation. By means of film analyses and film theory, Groß argues that this confrontation, especially in the films on the ancient world, generates an aesthetic place where the incompatible can unfold in the spectators' experience.
The body of the actor : notes on the relationship between the body and acting in Pasolini's cinema
(2012)
Agnese Grieco's paper 'The Body of the Actor: Notes on the Relationship Between the Body and Acting in Pasolini's Cinema' deals with the specific physiognomy of the actor within Pasolini's 'cinema of poetry'. It argues that Pasolini's films allow the spectator to experience directly a complex and polyvalent reality beyond the traditional idea of 'representation'. As a fragment of that reality, actors quote and present themselves beyond and through their interpretations of a role. Instead of conceiving of the actor as a 'professional of fiction', Pasolini employs a variety of actors who are able fully to convey their own anthropological history. It is particularly the body of the actor, Grieco concludes, that becomes a door opening towards a deeper reality. For instance, the figure of Ninetto Davoli can push us back towards Greek antiquity, and the codified art of the comedian Totò or the iconic fixity of Maria Callas can interact with the African faces of the possible interpreters of an African Oresteia.
Manuele Gragnolati's paper 'Analogy and Difference: Multistable Figures in Pasolini's "Appunti per un'Orestiade africana"' discusses Pasolini's preference for the figure of contradiction and his opposition to Hegelian dialectics by exploring his attempt to look at Africa's process of modernization and democratization in the 1960s as analogous to the synthetic transformation of the Furies into Eumenides at the end of Aeschylus's trilogy. Gragnolati shows that Pasolini is aware of the dangers of analogy, which risks imposing the author's or filmmaker's symbolic order onto that of the 'other' represented in the text or film, and he argues that Pasolini seeks to deal with this danger by constantly shifting back and forth between differing positions. "Appunti per un'Orestiade africana" can thereby be thought as a multistable figure that is left suspended and not only resists synthesis, but also problematizes its own feasibility and challenges its own legitimacy.
Astrid Deuber-Mankowsky's paper 'Cinematographic Aesthetics as Subversion of Moral Reason in Pasolini's Medea' explores the 1969 film "Medea". Pasolini's Medea, masterfully played by Maria Callas, betrays her homeland and her origin, stabs both her children, sets her house on fire, and dispossesses Jason of his sons' corpses. But Deuber-Mankowsky argues that it is ultimately not these acts that render the film particularly disturbing and disconcerting, but, rather, the fact that the spectator is left behind in suspension precisely because Medea cannot be easily condemned for her acts. Pasolini's film and its cinematographic aesthetics thereby not only subvert the projection of Medea into the prehistorical world of madness and perversion, but also undermine belief in the validity of the kind of moral rationality developed and constituted in an exemplary way by Immanuel Kant in his "Critique of Practical Reason". In particular, Pasolini seems to relate conceptually to Nietzsche's artistic-philosophical transfiguration of Dionysus and to accuse belief in a world of reasons of failing to grasp the groundlessness, irrationality, or even a-rationality of reason itself.
By focusing on Pasolini's uncompleted film project "San Paolo", Luca Di Blasi's article 'One Divided by Another: Split and Conversion in Pasolini's "San Paolo"' analyzes the notion of split (the split in the structure of time and, above all, the split of the figure of Paul) and concentrates especially on the very moment of Paul's Damascene conversion. Di Blasi refers to the "Kippbild" as a model that can be used to understand better certain ambivalences in Pasolini's Paul. Locating Pasolini's reading of the founder of the Church in a triangulation with two major contemporary philosophers, Alain Badiou and Giorgio Agamben, Di Blasi shows that two opposing possibilities of interpreting Paul - as militant subject of a universal event and its necessary consequences (Badiou) and as representative of softness, weakness, poverty, "homo sacer" (Agamben) - fit perfectly with the two aspects of Pasolini's Paul. Pasolini's profoundly split Paul thus represents a dichotomy which disunites two major figures of contemporary leftist thought.
The subject of this paper is a recent comic movie version of Dante's "Comedy": a 2007 puppet and toy theatre adaptation of the "Inferno" directed by Sean Meredith. It is certainly not the first time that Dante and his theatre of hell appear in this kind of environment. Mickey Mouse has followed Dante's footsteps and very recently a weird bunch of prehistoric animals went a similar path: in part three of the blockbuster "Ice Age" (2009), a new, lippy guide character named Buck uses several Dante quotes and the whole strange voyage can be described as a Dantesque descent into dinosaur hell. In the following pages Ronald de Rooy argues that Meredith's version of Dante's "Inferno" is not only funny and entertaining, but that it is also surprisingly innovative if we compare it to other literature and movies which project Dante's hell or parts of it onto the modern metropolis.
'Perhaps the sodomites should be written out of Dante's "Inferno"', Jarman wrote in his journal on 1 August 1990: 'I'll offer myself as the ghostwriter.' What does he mean by 'ghostwriter' here? How queer is this odd speech-act? What is he offering to do to the homophobic landscape of the "Inferno", that forbiddingly sealed textual prison, with his Hollywood pitchman's casual bid to 'write out' the sodomites as if they were a slight embarrassment to the divine justice system? Is he speaking in jest as a writer of gay satires and sacrilegious memoirs, or in deadly earnest as an activist who had renounced the middle-class pretensions and frivolities of the pre-AIDS gay world? [...] Jarman counters the trope of homosexual theft visually with the triumphant figure of Man with Snake. The Dantesque merging of snake and thief is replaced by an erotic dance in which the gilded youth raises his phallic partner above his head and seductively kisses it on the mouth. Whereas Dante would have us notice the grotesque parody of the Trinity played out in the seventh bolgia - with the unchanging Puccio as God the Father, the two-natured Agnello-Cianfa as Christ, and the fume-veiled Buoso receiving his forked tongue from the serpent Francesco in a demonic replay of the gift of tongues from the Spirit - Jarman clears away all overdetermined theological meanings to revel in the purely aesthetic impact of the phallic dancer. All the ghosts from Dante's snakepit are conjured away in the film and replaced with the solid presence of a single gorgeously spotlit male body. Ghostwriting Dante, for Jarman, meant more than a mere appropriation of homoerotic scenes from the "Inferno" into his screenplay. It meant a complete reimagining of their aesthetic significance within the filmscape of his Dantean transformations.
The 1935 Fox Films "Dante's Inferno" (directed by Harry Lachman) traces the rise and fall of an entrepreneur. Its protagonist, Jim Carter (played by Spencer Tracy), begins the story as a stoker on a cruise liner. The narrative opens with a burst of flames from the ship's boiler, and the ensuing scene goes on to show the protagonist competing at shovelling coal for a bet in the sweltering engine-room. Interspersed are shots of the superstructure directly above with a number of elegant and vapid passengers following the game below. This initial sequence thus concisely conveys the main features of the film's social agenda through imagery that anticipates that of two of its later 'infernal' sequences. [...] Spectacular admonition and concern about the ruthless pursuit of wealth are the main features which link this "Inferno" of the thirties to the one that had appeared some six hundred years earlier. Wealth and avarice were, of course, demonstrably serious concerns for Dante: as Peter Armour, for example, has shown, there is a recurrent and pervasive concern with money, its meaning, and its misuse throughout the "Commedia". So it is not surprising that the "Inferno" should also have been appropriated by social critics some hundred years before the 1935 Hollywood fable. [...] Some of the narrative and visual patterns in "Dante's Inferno" imply an uneasy underlying vision of the movie industry and its practices. Other productions, publicity, and journalism of the time reinforce suggestions of such a metafictional approach to movies, morality, and the market in the 1935 "Dante's Inferno".
This paper focuses on the Heimat (home) metaphor of the Pit Bull bitch in Yilmaz Arslan's Brudermord/Fratricide (2005), a film about Turkish migrants in Germany. Updating the genre for a world of fluid boundaries, this is a Heimatfilm of the German margin. Arslan's film self-reflexively posits transnational Heimat film as a possible bridge between "Others", as a means to facilitate conversations which might decrease the violence of the present dog eat dog world of the margin the film portrays.
The following list includes all traceable films of at least 30 minutes length, which explicitly address the current financial, economic and debt crisis as a main topic and have been available in English or German via European cinemas, television stations, or the internet. This includes dubbed or subtitled versions of films produced in other languages. The film descriptions mostly come from the films’ or television stations’ websites or other marketing material, so they are not necessarily objective (although often informative).
The list is based on an extensive internet search but nevertheless will probably be incomplete and sometimes imprecise. For instance, there is virtually no information about how often the cinema films have actually been shown in theaters; many of them may have been shown just a few times. There are lots of interesting shorter films like The Financial Crisis (Session I–V) (Denmark 2009, Superflex) or RSA Animate: Crises of Capitalism (GB 2010, RSA/David Harvey). Those short films are not listed here, but often they can be easily found and watched online.
In the first years of cinematography, the exhibitors mostly used magic lantern slides to project films titles before the film’s projection. In Europe and in the United States, around 1902–1903, motion pictures started to be sold with edited titles on films, and edited subtitles on multi shot films. From around 1907, as the length and number of shots, subtitles and words increased, there was a kind of competition between the subtitle and the lecturer to explain the films to the audiences. In the transitional period – 1907–1916 –, the trade press and scenario manuals constantly debated subtitle usefulness and limits. On one hand the dream of cinematography as a universal language was incompatible with this device, and the strong ideal of the titleless film advocated that moving pictures should tell stories by themselves, without the aid of any external narration, like theatre plays. On the other hand, there were more realistic approaches: subtitles were unavoidable, as they were essential to make a film understandable. The main recommendation, however, was to use them very sparingly, and only when it was absolutely necessary, because they might spoil suspense by giving a summary of the action in advance, they were also considered to have an adverse impact on the “reality effect”, to be exterior to the story and to interrupt the flow of images. Despite the reluctances and ambivalences towards it, as the industry organized itself in the 1910’s the subtitle was retooled, and became conventional and largely used for the construction of the classical narrative film.
Seymour Chatman (born 1928) is an American film and literary critic, a professor emeritus of rhetoric at the University of California, Berkeley. He is one of the most significant figures of American narratology, being regarded as a prominent representative of its Structuralist or "classic" branch. Among his works are not only some analyses of Antonionis‘s films, his narratological books and articles – especially on problems of perspectivity – found much interest in filmtheoretical research.
As the exilic experience, initiated in 587 B.C.E., continued over millennia, no one has been able to settle the question of what it means to be a diaspora Jew. Are those who actively participate in non-Jewish life still in a position to claim the heritage of Israel? And what about Jews who actively seek assimilation and renounce their roots altogether: are they still Jews in spite of themselves? Authors, from Joseph Roth to Sholom Aleichem to Chaim Potok, have tried to deal with this issue in light of different diaspora circumstances. One of the most recent perspectives on Jewish identity comes to us through "Sunshine", a powerful film by the Hungarian director Istvan Szabó (1999). Szabó, who wrote the screenplay with Israel Horowitz, tells the story of several generations in one Hungarian Jewish family: the Sonnenscheins. Living at the turn of the twentieth century, the patriarch of the Sonnenschein clan is Emmanuel, a successful distiller who seems to have found a balance between the two exilic extremes: neither complete assimilation, nor a retreat from gentile society.
Since the fall of the Wall, a new era of East German literature has emerged. This genre of literature exists even though East Germany’s borders dissolved over a decade and half ago and is challenging the way we think about the former German Democratic Republic. East German author Thomas Brussig is pivotal in this new genre of literature. His novels Helden wie wir (1995), Am kürzeren Ende der Sonnenallee (1999) and Leander Haußmann’s cinematic adaptation, Sonnenallee (1999), confront the negative associations and stereotypes connected with East Germany to deconstruct how formal history has portrayed its past and its citizens. Brussig’s texts take a completely different approach to remembering the GDR, which simultaneously challenges history’s dominant perspective as well as the Ostalgie phenomenon. Through his texts’ recollection, Brussig subverts the East German state in hindsight and begins the construction of a new mythology with which to associate former East Germany.
In this paper I tried to demonstrate that the British films depicting football hooliganism could be viewed as glorifying violence. A considerably great number of scenes and a great amount of time devoted to the presentation of violence, together with the unpunished, painless and heroic aspects of such presentations are just one side of the glorifying coin. The other side is occupied with the deeper meaning of particular scenes or the general overtones of the films which seem to develop a tendency to present a hooligan firm as a family-like community that offers happiness and produces a strong feeling of belonging and solidarity that adds spice to the boring working or middle class life. Violent confrontations are depicted as a source of pleasurable emotional arousal that surpass other forms of enjoyment. Moreover, confronting other hooligans helps hooligans to construct hard masculine identity based on physical prowess. Finally, being a good fighter is a fast track to earning a reputation that provides hooligans with a sense of power and importance. Real hooligans starring in the films, thus potentially encouraging viewers to become “wannabe warriors”, is also of great importance. However, the way the audiences react to the on-screen presentation of violence with all its aspects is a topic for much broader research.
German Expressionist cinema is a movement that began in 1919. Expressionist film is marked by distinct visual features and performance styles that rebel against prior realist art movements. More than 20 years prior to the Expressionist movement, Sigmund Frued published "The Interpretation of Dreams" in 1899, a ground breaking study that links dreams to unconcious impulses. This thesis argues that the unexplained dream - like imagery found in two Expressionist films, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (Robert Wiene, 1920) and Dr. Mabus, the Gambler (Fritz Lang, 1922) - can be seen in terms of Freud's model of dreaming.
This thesis examines three made-for-television ‘Event Movies’ from the German production company teamWorx, made between 2006 and 2007 – Dresden (2006), Nicht alle waren Mörder (2006) and Die Flucht (2007) – within the context of contemporary debates of ‘Vergangenheitsbewältigung’ or ‘coming to terms with the past’ in Germany. It will deal with specific debates in memory of the National Socialist past, namely representations of Germans as victims of the Second World War and memory of the Holocaust. Although in recent years the importance of teamWorx’s television films has begun to be acknowledged by scholars in both Germany and the UK, this thesis represents the first attempt to analyse these three Event Movies as a unit and to explore in-depth the teamWorx company and its attitudes to historical film. As such, two interviews will be relied on throughout this thesis, with chairman of the board Nico Hofmann and Die Flucht’s director Kai Wessel. In order to place the films within the context of contemporary debates on memory of the Nazi past in Germany, the thesis will undertake a filmic analysis of the Event Movies, supported by both the intentions of the filmmakers and critical responses in the contemporary press. Of primary importance for the thesis will be the twin concerns of the authenticity of teamWorx’s productions, as claimed by the filmmakers and the Event Movies’ borrowing of filmmaking devices from Hollywood genres, in particular the melodrama. Following this analysis it will be asked to what extent the Event Movies affect and reflect contemporary debates on the legacy of National Socialism and how these films contribute to the normalisation of the Nazi past in Germany.
Representations of the reasons and actions of terrorists have appeared in German literature tracing back to the age of Sturm und Drang of the 18th century, most notably in Heinrich von Kleist's Michael Kohlhaas and Friedrich Schiller's Die Räuber, and more recently since the radical actions of the Red Army Faction during the late 1960s and early 1970s, such as in Uli Edel's film, The Baader Meinhof Complex. By referring to Walter Benjamin's system of natural law and positive law, which provides definitions of differing codes of ethics with relation to state laws and personal ethics, one should be able to understand that Michael Kohlhaas, Karl Moor, and the members of the RAF are indeed represented as terrorists. However, their actions and motives are not without an internal ethics, which conflicts with that of their respective state-sanctioned authorities. This thesis reveals the similarities and differences in motives, methods, and use of violence in Schiller, Kleist, and representations of the RAF and explores how the turn to terrorism can arise from a logical realization that ideologies of state law do not align with the personal sense of justice and law of the individual.
Krzysztof Zanussi has been an increasingly major figure on the European film scene for the past decade, and today his reputation is beginning to spread throughout America. Critic Roger Ebert has called him "the best living maker of films about ideas" and his presence is constantly demanded by a growing list of American film festivals. The Museum of Fine Arts is most pleased to present the first major American retrospective of this important artist's work in film.
Walter Salles is probably the most widely known Brazilian director and producer. This article offers a portrait of his work over the last two decades as part of the cinematic and cultural changes that took place in Brazil. It starts with a historical overview of Brazilian film history and will then take a closer look at the films directed by Salles and his activities as producer. By looking at the evolution of the Brazilian film industry in the last ten to fifteen years in terms of market structures as well as aesthetic qualities, two major references become apparent: the more (but not only) commercial oriented productions of Globo Filmes, which often meet public taste and rely on a well-proven television language; second, the movies of Walter Salles as well as the films produced by Videofilmes, a company run and founded in 1987 by him and his brother, the documentarist João Moreira Salles. Videofilmes not only fosters many of the somewhat marginal, smaller film projects, but also serves as support for more artistically orientated movies.
Hollywood musicals combine two distinctive features: narrative and musical numbers, also referred to as “the real and the expressive” (Telotte 1980a, 4). These two equally important parts of any successful musical have to harmonize such that both seem appropriate in each scene and, ideally, supportive of each other. As musical numbers are traditionally seen as a “source of a tension” (ibid., 2) within the narrative, harmonization is not easy to achieve, and different directors as well as different sub-genres of the film musical have found different ways to deal with this tension. In this work, I will discuss two methods of integrating musical numbers into the plot of Hollywood musicals: the stage-worlds and the world-stages. While the former entails a certain kind of storyline, the latter refers to the setting of single numbers within the plot.
At the beginning of every story of murder there is always a body. If the murderer is a serial killer, there is, of course, more than one. More importantly, the bodies left by the serial killer are not likely to be intact and whole. What he leaves behind and what we, the audience, will get to see is the body in pieces, dismembered, scattered. A series of snapshots, partial views, and close-ups, inflicting cold sharp shocks, is all we may glimpse: the head of Benjamin Raspail floating in a jar of formaldehyde in The Silence of the Lambs, a finger removed by the serial killer from his landlord’s hand in Kalifornia, a ziploc bag of fingers recovered from a flooded drainpipe in When The Bough Breaks, a surgically severed hand used to leave misleading fingerprints on a wall at a crime scene in Seven.
On the following pages you will meet a strange cast of characters: field slaves from Mississippi, steel bands from Trinidad, sheriffs from Puerto Rieo. Mexican campesinos and senioritas, and, of course, the European musical stars who performed these American stereotypes in one of the most disparaged genres of German cinema, the 1950s West German revue film.
Sustained by well-established anti-American stereotypes and clichés, the romance between German and American culture has been a key ingredient of German cinema since its inception. The encounter with American mass culture produced compelling stories of infatuation and seduction, but also of conquest and surrender.
Wunschkonzert
(1994)
Film festivals have been the blank spot of cinema scholarship throughout most of the twentieth century. Although individual festival histories and anniversary books have been published for many years and the topic of film festivals has occasionally been addressed in academic studies – focusing for example on art or national cinemas – the phenomenon of film festivals was, until recently, rarely the main focus of study. In the last few years, academics have turned to study the broad range of film festival constituencies. These works aim to explain, theorize, and historicize film festivals and, in doing so, point to the emergence of a new field of academic study, film festival research, in which knowledge of festivals is considered essential for our understanding of cinema cultures.
Marcus Stiglegger revives a lost Gothic treasure in this brief discussion of Robert Sigl's Laurin—a rare case of German genre film-making and the heir to FW Murnau's legacy. Phantastic genre cinema is very rare in contemporary Germany—especially in the 1980s, the time when Italian horror reached another peak with Dario Argento's Opera (1985). The cliché of the German "easy comedy" ruled mainstream film production at the time, and so it appeared a kind of miracle when 27-year-old writer/director Robert Sigl was awarded the Bavarian Film Prize in 1988 for his debut feature: the Gothic horror fairytale Laurin.
The problematic economic situation in most parts of Russia today is nevertheless the ideal climate for the flourishing of the arts. Especially in St. Petersburg there grows a fascinating new experimental music scene, from Moscow we receive new impulses in literature such as the poet Alina Vituchnovskaja... Russian cinema always had a good reputation, and the new generation of Russian filmmakers clearly tries to keep up with it.
Romantic comedies are not renowned for intricate storytelling and have rarely been deemed worthy of the sustained scholarly attention of analytic ‘close readings’. What applies to the genre as a whole applies no less to its music, which has yet to be discovered by film musicology as a field of enquiry. But genre films such as romcoms can be highly self-conscious and self-reflexive, and can show a playfulness in their use of cinematic techniques that may be as much fun for the analyst as for the audience.
Vertov defined the basic qualities of his Cine-Eye by means of a simple negation: it sees what remains inaccessible to the human eye. This means that in his films we see media-based and media-produced images that have nothing to do with the imitation of human perception. According to Vertov, such filmic, telescopic, or microscopic perception develops, educates, and expands the viewer’s analytical abilities. Thus, we have on the one hand a media-induced perception and on the other a new assemblage or montage of the fragments of this mediated perception. This new montage is based on a specific interaction and follows poetic rather than prosaic rules. It is freed from such constraints as time, space, causality, or speed. In other words it is based on properly media-specific qualities and, following the terminology of the Russian Futurists who influenced Vertov in his youth, it constitutes zaum or transrationality.
Far greater liberties can be taken by animation than by live-action films The possibilities of the narratives are enriched by unrestricted visual images that offer unique means of exploring and portraying states of desire, conscious and unconscious realities, as well as different layers of relationships and experiences. This leads to a fusion of the traditional and modern roles of representation. Anime from acclaimed Japanese director Hayao Miyazaki, particularly the Academy Award winner Spirited Away (Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi, 2003) and Oscar-nominated Howl’s Moving Castle (Hauru no Ugoku Shiro, 2004), which in recent years have acquired a global cult status, offer new perspectives on human subjectivity. Through their playful use of the motif of transformation, striking similarities in the development of the plots and ambiguous dénouements, the movies problematize the fundamental question of identity, representing a close illustration of some of the core psychoanalytical concepts found in Lacanian theory.
When the concept of the auteur was coined in the 1950s and 1960s, it was an initiative to clarify the obscure matters of authorship in cinema. Because a film must necessarily be a collective work, understood as the result of a large number of creative contributions, it was often unclear who the decisive power behind a certain film was, who contributed the "distinctive quality". The control will usually belong to the director, the producer or the star (or all three in combination), but what singles out a given film could also come from the cinematographer, the scriptwriter, from the author of an adapted literary work, or from traditions in the studio or in the genre. Nothing can be taken for granted about a film's authorship, it can only be decided through a thorough analysis of each film's production process, an analysis that, in most cases, will be impossible to make. ...
If we see a film, we experience the passing time in two ways. On the one hand, it is conveyed as the time in which the film action takes place – felt as “lived” time. On the other hand, via camera travels and movements of objects vertically to the picture plane, time is perceived – in a much more indirect way – as a vehicle for representation of spatial depth. It is this link between space and time where the method of “time tilting” introduced here sets in. When a film scene is “time-tilted”, one of the spatial dimensions (here the horizontal direction of the picture plane) is interchanged with the time dimension: In a first step, the pictures of the scene are digitalized. Then, the thus gained pixels of all pictures of the scene are arranged into a three-dimensional data field. Finally, a new series of pictures is read out, along one of the two former picture axes, which is then shown as a scene of moving pictures. The resulting film will present optical phenomena which are, on the one hand, aesthetically appealing and, on the other hand, informative for film analysis. First examples demonstrate how the procedure operates on basic movements in space as well as on camera travels in space.